Sunday, October 24, 2004

Wow! I placed 9,241st! Whatta record. This was behind the fife player, the old guy carrying a giant flag, and the obese short woman... but still, I made 10-minute miles for 10 miles, and that's not bad for a pack-a-day smoker, six months postpartum, who didn't train for the race and whose idea of pre-race prep is to go to a party and "carbo-load" the night before (five Bass Ales).

Bad side effects of running 10 miles: chafing below the arms, needing to wear orthopedic shoes all week, legs that feel 2 inches shorter than before I ran. Good side effects: lost two pounds immediately post-race, feel like a million bucks, and now I know I can do it.

I've never run with 20,000 people before, and that was strange. It took us 10 minutes just to get to the start line. My sister kept taking off ahead of me and then I'd catch up. My Ipod died at mile three--have I mentioned I HATE MY FUCKING POD--and I had to run the next seven miles with no sound but the labored breathing of fellow runners, barking police dogs, and Army guys saying "Hoo-AH!" at every mile marker. Oh yeah, and the battling Bush/Kerry runners, who kept cheering for their candidates as they ran. Jeez, people, give it a rest.

I'd also never been that close to the Pentagon before. You know, if someone said to an architect, "Please design us a scary-ass, gigantic military bulwark" they couldn't do any better than the Pentagon. Army boys in camo hung around looking a little bit confused (slinging their M16s over their shoulders and saying "Hey, are walkmans okay? Yeah, walkmans are okay... no cell phones! Cell phones are okay? Okay...") I have to admit I have a soft spot for 18 year olds in their hottie camo outfits. I'm all "Oooohh, protect me!" However, when you see them up close and realize that they are the final boundary between Us and the Enemy, you begin to lose a little confidence in the military machine. I mean, half of them don't even need to shave yet.

After the race, we turned in our shoe chips and in return they gave us a bananna, a bottle of water, a muffin, and a little medal. The little medal reminds me of these Soviet "znatchkes" we used to collect in high school--little propaganda pins with Lenin's head and stuff--only these had the scary-ass Pentagon on them. It was raining all morning, so we didn't want to hang around in the "hoo-ah" tents, as they are called, and instead got coffee and I smoked a well-deserved cigarette. Ah, physical fitness.

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.